CHAPTER III
FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE
With a quick gesture, the arm thrust out, the hand open, the fingersspread, Louis shrank back, his other arm across his face. It was amovement eloquent of pathos, despair, and suffering; then, with anothersigh, he straightened himself, his corpse-like face pinched with care.
"The son of France!" he repeated. "Yes! the son of France! but,Philip, my friend, my one friend, must the father perish for the son?"
"Oh, sire, sire," cried Commines, deeply moved, both by the words andthe appeal in the voice. "Never that. And it is true--you are France,France itself as no King ever has been; France in its strength, Francein its hope, and God knows what evil will befall----" He checkedhimself sharply as a spasm twisted the King's sunken mouth. Carriedaway by his sympathy he had forgotten that it was an almostunforgivable offence to hint that Louis was not immortal. For him theword death was wiped from the language. If the dread shadow took formto strike, those near might say "Speak little," or "Confess," butnothing more.
But for once the offence passed without rebuke; it was even seized uponto point a moral, and nerving himself to face the thought the Kingcompleted the sentence.
"God knows what evil will befall France in a boy's hands! And within ayear he will be of age; of age and yet a child. A puppet king ofFrance!" Louis paused, drawing in his breath with a shudder like a manchilled to the marrow. "A puppet, a puppet, and in the hands of apuppet what must the end be? Ah! France! France! France! It isdisaster, unless it can be turned aside. Philip, you must go toAmboise. Take with you some one you can trust, if in all Valmy thereis such an one!"
"There is, sire; one I can trust as my King can trust me."
"Yes, yes, but not overmuch; do not trust him overmuch. Remember whatI said--suspect, suspect."
"I am not afraid, sire, Stephen La Mothe owes everything to me."
"Gratitude? Is that any reason for faithfulness? Piff!" And the Kingblew out his thin lips in contempt. "To bind men to you, Commines, tobind them so that you may sleep easy o' nights, you must hold themeither by the fear of to-day or the hope of to-morrow. Gratitude!Thanks for eaten bread! How many are there who owe me everything, andyet have turned against me. But let that pass; may God and the Saintsforgive them as I do." Louis paused, and a sardonic smile flickeredfor an instant across his face. If God and the Saints had no moreforgiveness for his enemies than he had, then their prospects in thelife to come were as miserable as Louis would have made the remnant oftheir days in this present world if they but fell into his power. "Andthis La Mothe," he went on, "there is no need to tell him all we know.To tell all you know is to lose your advantage. And why should he befaithful? Why does he owe you everything?"
"I promised his sister--it was years ago----"
"A woman? Um, I do not like women. The ways of men I can follow, butthe ways of women are beyond me. Seven devils were cast out of one,but not from the rest, and so there is no understanding them. No, I donot like women."
"Sire, she is long dead."
"Yes? That makes it safer, but I do not see that it is any reason fortrusting the brother. Take him with you to Amboise if you think he issafe, but remember"--and the King's lean hand was shaken suddenlyupward almost in Commines' face, a threat as well as a warning--"I holdyou responsible, you, you, you only. Let him be with you, but not ofyou; let him enter Amboise apart from you, and let him work out ofsight like a mole, obeying orders without knowing why he obeys. Thenif he fails, or blunders, or is fool enough to be caught spying, youcan disown him, can wash your hands of him, and let him hang! Um! Youdon't like it? I see in your face that you don't like it. Will younever learn that a face has a tongue of its own to be used to concealour thoughts? But yours--I know your thought. The woman! Bah! thewoman is dead."
"Sire, a promise to the dead is like a vow to the Saints; none can giveit back."
"Um! a vow to the Saints? But we must have the Saints on our side.Let me see--let me see. Yes! Take him with you, openly or secretly asyou will, and if he bungles I shall deal with him. That frees you fromyour promise. The justice of the King! Eh, Philip! will the justiceof the King please you better?"
The justice of the King! Louis sat back in his chair as he spoke, hisblotched gums showing in a grin between his thin lips, his dull eyeshalf veiled by the drooping of the leaden-hued lids. More than ever hewas a mask of death, but of a death that possessed a grim humour,malevolent in its satirical cynicism. The justice of the King. Whoshould know that justice so well as Commines, its minister for almost adozen years, or who so testify to its stern implacability? Noneescaped the rigid iron of its wrath. Their almost royal blood savedneither the Duke of Nemours nor the Count of Armagnac. Saint-Pol,Constable of France, perished on the scaffold. Besides these a scoreof the greater nobles of France had fallen, nor could the scarlet ofthe Cardinalate shield Balue from its vengeance. If these, the greatones of the chess-board, were beyond the pale of mercy, what hope wouldthere be for a simple pawn like Stephen La Mothe, if once he fellbeneath that inflexible ban? And yet to the courtier the King'squestion could have but one reply.
"The justice of the King," repeated Commines; and added, withoutthought of irreverence, "Let him fall into the hands of God and not ofman."
"Good!" The thin lips twitched, and deep in the dead eyes a sombrefire glowed. It warmed his cold humour to read so plainly the thoughthidden behind the smooth words. But to a mind as fertile as the King'sthat very thought was a suggestion. It would be well that this LaMothe should clearly understand all he had to fear; and not to fearonly but also to hope. The justice of the King could raise up as wellas cast down, could reward without measure as well as crush withoutmercy.
"Go to Amboise. Be myself in Amboise. If--I use your own word,Philip--if justice must strike---- Ah! poor wretched King and yet morewretched father!--be thou the King's justice, be thou the King's handin Amboise, and let this Monsieur La Mothe be your ears, your eyes.And--um--yes, let me see this La Mothe before you leave; I am, as youknow, something of a judge of men. To-morrow will do, and the next dayyou can go to Amboise."
"And my commission, sire? My authority to act on your behalf?"
"Commission?" The plaintive, gentle calm of the King's voice broke upin storm. Leaning forward Louis tapped his finger-tips on the tablenoisily. "Sift, search, find, find, there is your commission.Authority? Um--um--when Absalom rebelled against David did Joab, theking's servant, say, 'Where is my authority?' Rebellion is yourauthority; the safety of your King is your authority; the plot againstFrance is your authority. For such crimes there is none above justice,Monsieur d'Argenton, none--none. But justice is like truth, andsometimes dwells in shadow. Do you understand? Justice, but noscandal. We must be circumspect. There must be no shock to publicthought in France. It is the curse and fate of kings to be misjudged.Justice might well come by way of accident. And--let me see! This LaMothe! He owes you everything and you say he can be trusted?"
"Yes, sire, but I have been thinking----"
"Then, Philip, tell him something of what I have told you. Thedanger----" The King again shook in the air the crumpled despatchwhich had never been exposed, never left his grasp for an instant."The danger to me--to France--to you, above all to you who vouch forhim. He owes you everything as you owe me, perhaps he will understandas you do?"
"But, sire," said Commines again, striving hard to keep his voiceunemotional, "while you spoke I have been thinking. I fear Stephen LaMothe is too young, too inexperienced, for so grave a mission."
"And are there two in Valmy you can trust with your life? Too young?No! To be young is to be generous, to be young is to dream dreams.The generosity of his youth will repay you all he thinks he owes, andwill not count the cost: the dreams will see the glory of servingFrance. Age brings caution, Philip; age brings too much of theweighing of consequence; and at Amboise a little incaution will begood, incaution of himself, you understand. He o
wes you everything;let him get it into his head that you are the gainer by hisincaution--as you will be, Philip, as you will be, and he too. There!That is settled. Send him to me to-morrow. Move the brazier nearer tome, then go. Nearer yet; within reach of my hand. There! that willdo."
But filled by a fear he dared not show Commines still lingered. Acrossthe gulf of the past years came the voice of the dear, dead woman, thevoice of the lost love of his youth, lost while youth was generous,while youth dreamed dreams and loved passionate. It was the sweetestvoice he had ever known; sweet in itself because of itself, caressing,gentle, sweeter still because passionate love had throbbed through it."Watch over him, Philip, for my sake," it said, and she had diedcomforted by his promises, died trusting him. And now---- But whilehe hesitated, willing but afraid to dare, Louis bestirred himself.Resting one arm upon the table he pushed himself half upright with theother hand, and so, half poised, pointed forward at the door. A blotchof crimson showed upon the cheek-bones and the dull eyes glowed.
"God's name, man! did you not hear me? Do you serve me or the Dauphin?Which? Go! go! go!"
This time Commines obeyed, and obeyed in silence. The King's questionwas not one which called for an answer; or rather he understood thatAmboise must give the answer, give it emphatically and without aquibble. Once outside the door he paused. Between Saint-Pierre,Leslie, and himself no love was lost, but the bond of a unitedwatchfulness against a common danger bound them to mutual service.
"Where was it from?" asked Saint-Pierre. But Commines shook his head,running his fingers inside the collar of his doublet significantly.Complacency, even when it was the complacency of self-defence, had itslimits.
"I dare not," he whispered back. "He is in the mood of the devil.What is he doing now?"
As if playing the part of sentry Saint-Pierre turned and walked twiceor thrice up and down before the open door, glancing cautiously within.
"Tearing the despatch, and burning it piecemeal in the brazier."
"I feared as much. If you love yourselves, gentlemen, see that you donot cross him to-day. And when I am gone from Valmy walk warily."
"Where are you going, Monsieur de Commines?"
"To Amboise, and I would have given a thousand crowns for one look atthat despatch."
But it is a question whether the look would have taught him much,though he had studied the paper for an hour. It was blank; beyond thesuperscription and the "Louis" sprawled across the corner there was notone single word. And yet, to one trained by ten years service in hismaster's ways of crooked cunning the very blank would have beeneloquent of warning.